


Tournament of Hearts

by silverducks



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 16:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4187286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverducks/pseuds/silverducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sif and Loki find themselves the opponents in the final round of the Thor's birthday Tournament, secrets are revealed which Sif would very much like to remain hidden. Set pre Thor and based on the Tumblr prompt "I've seen the way you look at me when you think I don't notice."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tournament of Hearts

_So, I got this prompt over on Tumblr and thought I may as well post the story here. There’_ _ll probably be about two or three more chapters. I then intend to carry on with my other Sif/Loki stories, which are definitely not forgotten._

_Hope you enjoy reading this :-)_

_The prompt was “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”_

* * *

“Yield!” Sif demanded, pushing her blade further into Loki’s throat.

The man pinned beneath her did not even flinch, “And why, my Lady, would I wish to do that?”

His smirk infuriated her and Sif pressed harder on the sword, its sharp edge drawing a faint line of crimson. Any harder and his throat would be slit.

“Because, my _Prince_ , your life is, quite literally, in my hands.”

The sword could cut no deeper, so Sif punctuated her words by pushing back on his hands, which she held pinned above his head. This did earn her a slight flinch and it was now her turn to smirk. She leaned down closer to him, so none watching could hear. “It may be against the rules to kill you, Loki, but I can certainly break your wrist.” More pressure earned her another flinch, but still the Prince would not yield. Sif relaxed her sword slightly, just enough to allow Loki to acquiesce.

“That may be true, but if I were to yield, you would win this tournament, and that I cannot allow.” He managed to recover his smirk, despite the continual pressure on his hands. “You won the last tournament, and the one before. Is it not time to give another the glory?”

“Are you asking me to let you win?” Sif glared down at her hostage, digging her knees into his legs now, as well as pushing his wrist further back.

“I would never dream of such a slur, my Lady.” Loki’s smirk turned into one of feigned offence and Sif’s anger peaked once more. She dug her knees in deeper, letting her fingernails push into the skin on his wrists, but it did not deter the Prince. “I was merely hoping to bide enough time to defeat you.”

“Then yield now and save both our time! There is no hope in all the nine realms for you now, Trickster.” Her voice was intentionally loud, allowing it to carry up into the crowds all around. It was the one thing that Sif hated most about this particular melee, held in honour for Thor’s birthday every decade. The contenders had to actually admit defeat before any winner could be declared. Most warriors were honourable and would yield when they knew the battle lost, but not Loki. Oh no. The slippery snake had no shred of honour within him and Sif was contemplating whether she would actually have to snap his wrist after all. It would soon heal, and he had suffered far worse injuries… But Sif did not wish to inflict such pain upon her friend, especially not now, not after… Sif quickly pushed that thought aside, it had no place here, and gritted her teeth at the fiend below. She pushed his wrists still further back, as far as the bone would allow, a warning that her threat was not made idly.

A hiss of pain accompanied his words, but the infuriating smirk remained. “You wound me with your harsh words, my Lady. But I do think your confidence is rather misplaced.” His voice softened as he finished, deepening, his lips widening into a mischievous smile. The abrupt change disconcerted Sif and she gripped the sword hilt tighter. He raised his head, as far as the blade would allow and held her gaze with a strange compelling intensity. For a moment Sif became acutely aware of Loki’s presence, of her own position above him as she pushed him into the ground. Her gaze flickered to his lips, lingered there for a heartbeat too long. Her own face moved a fraction closer, his voice now a whisper against her skin. “Such an inherent weakness, dear Sif.” He paused, capturing her gaze once more. “And I do believe I know another.”

A heartbeat later she felt his fingertips gently move across her own, so slowly, so softly, almost like a lover’s caress. The movement startled her, her grip on his wrists slipping, the hand on her sword trembling slightly. She watched as a drop of blood pooled along the blade, before she gathered herself enough to quickly pull it back. In that moment Loki struck. Raising his legs from under her and lifting the hand that held his own, he pushed her off. The force of the blow was strong, knocking the sword from her grasp as Sif fell backwards onto the hard dirt of the arena. The impact knocked the sense back into her, but it was too late. As she made to push herself back up, a figure loomed above her, blocking out the sun. The silhouette of her sword glittered contemptuously at her as Loki, now on his feet, quickly lowered the blade towards her, holding the sharp point of the sword against her heart.

“I believe it is now your turn to yield, my Lady.”

There was nothing Sif could do. The blade dug into her breastplate and Loki stood carefully out of reach. She hardened her scowl, but Loki just laughed mockingly, pushing the sword in as deep as the thick armour would allow. The blade was sharp enough to pierce it and Sif knew better than to attempt any movement. Her glare was her only weapon left and she threw all her hate and anger at the Trickster into it, but it accomplished little. Loki chuckled, bending down towards her to smile contemptuously, revelling in his victory over her. Oh, how she hated this snake right now, all the more venomously now that she could no longer hide the truth. It strengthened her loathing and further wounded her pride.

“Or do you wish for me to return the favour and bide you time to try and defeat me?”

His derisive words reminded her of her own contempt at Loki’s lack of honour. She was better than this worthless snake and with crowds of Asgardian’s watching with bated breath, she knew she had little choice. She must swallow her pride for the sake of her honour.

“I hate you,” whispered Sif, so only Loki could hear. Then, with her voice raised and her glare sharpened with disgust, she continued, “I yield.”

A cheer of applause suddenly surrounded them and the heavy weight of her sword was immediately lifted. She took a deep breath, her chest now no longer constricted and continued to glare at the snake. He chuckled again and bent down, holding his hand out towards her. It was exceedingly tempting to reach for it and flip him over backwards onto the hard earth, but she resisted. Such acts of vengeance were beneath her, at least here, before the crowds of spectators.

She ignored his hand and pushed herself upwards, her limbs protesting in pain now that they were no longer fuelled with adrenaline. She continued to glower at him as he turned towards the crowd, raising her sword high above his head in victory. It was humiliating to stand beside him as the defeated, especially as the victory had been so shamefully seized.

“Congratulations brother!” Thor’s voice carried over the cheer of the crowd as he came down from the stands to greet them. Even though he was not able to compete, for this melee was held in his honour, the smile he wore was warm and full of pride at his brother’s triumph. The trophy he held glittered in the afternoon sunshine, the precious stones adorning the Raven’s collar casting ruby, sapphire and emerald light across the dirty ground of the arena. Sif looked at the statue enviously, the cut diamonds of the Raven’s eyes holding her gaze, as if they too were mocking her. As if they too knew the secret she had tried to bury deep in her heart. For the last two decades the trophy had stood proudly on her mantelpiece, the Raven’s eyes then kind, proud. Now it would spend the next in Loki’s chambers, until the tournament was once again held ten years hence.

The Thunderer shook his brother’s hand, then gripped his shoulders proudly. As tradition dictated, Loki bowed before his brother, rising as Thor passed him the prized Raven trophy. The cheers of the crowd were deafening as Loki raised the statue high, its jewelled wings sparkling in the sunlight as he turned around, exulting in the crowd’s adoration. Sif watched him with a fierce hatred in her gaze. Any other time and she would have gladly accepted her friend’s praise, gladly joined in Loki’s triumph, for she knew he experienced it little. But not today, not when her pride hurt more than her wounds and her heart most of all. The trickster had won and she had let him, allowed him to manipulate her to the point of distraction, allowed her feelings to darken her judgement. A weakness indeed.

Loki caught her eye then, as if drawn by her thoughts. He tipped the trophy towards her in a toast and his smile slipped momentarily into a mischievous smirk. Her scowl intensified and she held his gaze for a moment, hatred and anger radiating towards him, but his smirk only grew. She looked away, facing the crowds before her, still applauding their second Prince.

“In celebration of my birthday, and in honour of my father, the great Allfather Odin Borson,” Thor’s voice thundered around the arena and the cheers of the crowd quickly faded in respect. “I give you the winner of this tournament, my brother, Prince Loki Odinson.” Thor reach for his brother’s hand and raised it high above their heads, the Raven in Loki’s other hand soaring to match. The crowd roared and those still seated raised up to cheer and applaud.

That should be me, Sif thought bitterly, but she pushed her anger away for the moment, forced a smile onto her lips as she bowed towards Thor when he turned to face her. With grace and honour she accepted the second prize he handed her, a beautiful silver Owl adorned with opals and rich garnet eyes.

“And in second place, I give you the shieldmaiden Lady Sif Tyrdottr.” Her own free hand was now taken by Thor and raised high to match, the spectators still clapping wildly, their cheers echoing around the arena and cascading towards them.

As was tradition, Thor then joined the two fighter’s hands, a representation of peace and forgiveness between the two foes. It was a tradition Sif had quite forgotten about and she turned her head in surprise when she felt Loki’s cool hand grip hers. Cool and calm, in such opposition to the hot day and the fierce battle they had waged between them. Sif wanted to pull her own sweaty hand away, feeling dirty and embarrassed, but before she had chance, Loki had already lifted it between them.

“I give you the champions of the tournament!” Thor shouted above the cacophonous cheers of the crowd, which only grew louder as the two fighters raised their prizes high, the Raven and the Owl, power and wisdom united. Pulling on her hand gently, Loki turned them in a circle so all the crowd could see their champions, the sunlight blinding them as it glistened on the metal and stones of the trophies. When the circle was complete, they faced the Allfather’s throne and, with hands still clasped, they bowed towards their king, prizes held to their chest in honour.

The Allfather rose to greet them, his expression proud as he looked upon his second son, the champion. Sif took this opportunity to quickly pull her hand away, but Loki caught her gaze as she did so. It was strangely inquisitive, curious for a moment, before it shifted once more into a smile, one full of mischief and awareness and Sif quickly looked away.

She accepted the King’s blessing with honour and grace, but stepped away from them as soon as she was able. Retrieving her sword, the blade sunk deep within the earth, Sif retreated to the changing rooms under the stands of the amphitheatre. She cast no backwards glance at the crowds or the snake of a second Prince. Anger fuelled her, more potent from the sting of humiliation. The Trickster had disgraced her before the entire realm, ripped her pride to tatters and laughed in her defeat.

Yet as she threw her sword into the weapons chamber, too angry to properly tend to it, she knew the real source of her hatred lay at her own feet, her own weakness and her stupid, treacherous heart. The secrets she had been determined to keep from him, from even herself, had now been laid bare for all of Asgard to witness.


End file.
